Classaesium Treakite

Hydrogen

The blood had splattered all around the lawn, and on the front porch.

"Bloody suicidal buggers, we get for renting", cried Mrs. Treak.

The blood had seeped to the floor of the hall, and had mysteriously bubbled, staining one of the hanging photographs. It was that of little Sis Treak.

Classy Treak often felt sad on the profound loss of frolics of a sibling. He was seven then, she four.

He had eaten cheese, and let out a phantasmic fart.

She flew out the hall, out the window, up into the sky.

But the separation wasn't to be for long.